Текст книги "The Hell Screen"

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

“Then someone killed him. Tora fought with the man and dislocated his shoulder, but we left him alive, tied to the rope by his wrists. It is impossible that he could have hanged himself!”

Kobe said nothing.

Akitada stared at him. In disbelief he asked, “Do you think we hanged him?”

“It does not matter. He deserved it.” Kobe emptied his cup of wine. “I had my men dig up the garden. They uncovered four skeletons. Two were children, one an old man, and one a woman.”

Akitada shook his head. What was it that Noami had said about the children’s visits? “It’s getting rid of them that’s hard.” The disposal of the dead and the barely alive must have taxed even his strength. Akitada looked the superintendent in the eyes. “Kobe, I swear to you, we did not hang Noami. I was in no shape to stand, let alone string up a man, and Tora was with me the whole time. We left the man unconscious but alive. Noami got a more humane treatment than he accorded me.”

Kobe’s eyes went to Akitada’s bandaged wrists. He nodded. “We found the sketches. Tora says you freed yourself.”

“It was either that or die. He doused me with cold water and left me to freeze because he wanted me in sufficient agony for his cursed hell screen. After that… well, by then he knew that I knew.”

Kobe clenched his big fists. “He was a demon! I am glad he is dead. But I wish he had suffered like those poor creatures. Someone cheated us of the pleasure of lawful torture.”

Akitada frowned. “I don’t understand what happened. Perhaps someone took private vengeance before you got there. How long before—” He broke off. It occurred to him suddenly that it must have been the warden who had taken justice into his own hands. It certainly fit his character of running his quarter by his own set of laws.

“Well, we won’t pursue it.” Kobe regarded him worriedly. “You still look tired. I won’t stay long. Noami is dead, and good riddance, but there is another matter which troubles me more. Yasaburo was found poisoned in his cell.”

Akitada sat up. “What?”

“He had had a visitor, an old priest, just before he fell into convulsions. Nobody knew the monk, but he seemed harmless enough and Yasaburo greeted him as an old friend. Since it was a religious visit, the guard left them alone together. Yasaburo was all right when his visitor left, but shortly afterward he started vomiting and screaming with pain. He died before the guard could question him.”

“Well, did anyone look for that priest?”

Kobe bristled. “Of course. What do you take us for? We scoured all the temples around and questioned anyone who was in the street at the time the priest came and went. Nothing. The man disappeared into thin air as soon as he left the prison grounds.”

“Have you asked Harada?”

“Harada was still pretty sick, but he said that he never knew Yasaburo to associate with priests. In fact, he says his employer despised Buddhists.”

“Yet he knew him. Strange.” Akitada caught a momentary glimpse of a pattern, but it was all still too vague to share. He asked, “What about Nagaoka’s brother? How long are you going to hold him? You must know now that someone else is responsible for the deaths in the Nagaoka family.”

Kobe nodded glumly. “I had him released this morning. He will remain in the capital until the case is cleared up.”

Akitada thought of Yoshiko. For the past month, he had struggled with the problem of Yoshiko and Kojiro, or rather with himself. While Kojiro was in jail, Akitada had concentrated on the murder cases and pushed the decision about his sister’s future aside. Now the inevitable moment had come when he would have to weigh centuries of his family’s tradition against Yoshiko’s happiness.

He glanced out into the wintry garden. Had Seimei remembered to feed the fish? How pointless his resentment toward the old man seemed now. Tradition-bound, Seimei had chosen loyalty to Akitada’s father over love for his son. Where lay one’s duty?

Kobe moved restlessly. “I must go,” he said. “When you are better…” He hesitated. Akitada looked at him questioningly. Such diffidence was out of character for Kobe. “When you feel more yourself,” Kobe blurted, “I would be very glad to have your help with the unsolved cases.”

The humble plea marked an extraordinary reversal of their previous roles, and Akitada was profoundly moved. He said quickly, “Of course. I look forward to it,”

Kobe nodded and left.

A quite ridiculous sense of happiness filled Akitada all of a sudden. He was alive. Yori was safe. They were all together again. He looked around the room. It had once been his father’s and a hated room, but now it was his, truly his, and he was pleased with it. Filled with his books and papers, it was the heart of his home and a refuge against the demons lurking outside. The uncertainties of life were offset by such islands of peace among one’s family.

His eye fell on an unfamiliar oblong brocade-wrapped package on his desk. Curious, he took it up, untied the silk cord, and unrolled the fabric. It contained his broken flute, now miraculously restored. He turned it slowly in his hands, looking for the seam between the broken halves. He could not find it. Bemused, he raised the flute to his lips and blew. The sound was pure and clear, hanging in the air for a moment like a silken ribbon before he let it dissolve into a shower of trills as joyous as the song of a nightingale outside his veranda door.

He played remembered tunes, “Mist and Rain over a Mountain Lake” and “Bells on a Snowy Night,” surprised that he recalled them, immersed in the music, totally happy for a time. When he finally lowered the instrument, a soft sound of applause came from the door to the corridor. It had been pushed ajar a little, and in the opening appeared the smiling face of Yoshiko.

“Oh, that was lovely, Elder Brother,” she cried. “The flute maker promised it would play as well as ever. Do you like it?”

“Please come in, Little Sister.” Akitada smiled. “It sounds better than before, I think. A miracle. Was it you who had it mended?”

She blushed and bowed. “It gave me great pleasure.”

Yoshiko was no longer the laughing young girl Akitada remembered. She was a grown woman, Tamako’s age almost, though she looked older, more worn, quietly composed instead of bubbling with energy as she used to be. He was partially to blame for that. What her mother had started by denying Yoshiko a life of her own, he had finished by extorting a cruel promise. He had taken her last hope of happiness with the man she loved.

“Yoshiko,” he said humbly, “I find I must beg your pardon. I have given you much pain when I had meant to make you happy. And in spite of this, you have gone to have my flute mended. It was too kind and I don’t deserve it.”

She gave a little gasp. “Oh, no, Akitada. The flute was nothing. And… you meant well,” she said softly.

“Do you truly love Kojiro?”

“Yes,” she said without qualification, her voice matter-of-fact.

“He has been released.”

A slight flush rose to her cheeks. “I am glad. Poor man, he has suffered so much. I hope his future will be blessed.”

“And you? Do you still wish to be a part of his future?”

For a moment the color receded from her face and he thought she would faint. But the blush returned as abruptly. She looked at him in wonder. “Akitada,” she breathed, “have you changed your mind? For me nothing has changed. I shall always love him. He may only be a farmer and a merchant’s brother, but I am a part of him. But what about you, and the family? If you allow this marriage, must we part forever?”

“No. I was wrong to forbid the marriage and I was wrong about Kojiro’s character. He is a much better man than most people of rank. However, that does not mean that things will be easy for you. You must be prepared for rejection by people of our rank, perhaps even by your own sister.”

She smiled. “As long as you and Tamako will not disown me, I shall manage quite well. And Akiko will come around in the end because Toshikage is a kind man.”

Akitada nodded, remembering that he had once also doubted this brother-in-law. “In three weeks’ time the forty-nine days of mourning for your mother will be up. I see no reason why you cannot have a quiet wedding in the spring. If you like the idea, I shall speak to Kojiro about a marriage contract. I mean to give you the same dower as Akiko.”

His sister covered her face with both hands and began to weep.

“Yoshiko!” Akitada struggled up in dismay. “What is it? What have I said?” He went to kneel beside her.

She buried her face against his chest. “Nothing, everything,” she sobbed, half crying and half laughing. “Oh, Akitada. Thank you so much. Oh, and Kojiro will thank you also. We are both forever in your debt.”

“Well,” said Akitada, dabbing his own eyes and patting her shoulder. “In that case, I had better get busy clearing up three murders, and you will have to use your needle on your own gowns instead of Yori’s. It is high time we got out of these dark clothes.”

TWENTY-TWO

The Dance of the Demon

On the next to the last day of the year, Akitada was well enough to leave the house. The weather was gray, but the bitter cold had finally broken. Akitada wore elaborate court dress—his new robe, made by Yoshiko from the silk he had bought so many weeks ago—because he was on his way to court to present his official report.

Years ago this would have been a highly stressful affair for him. Even men older and higher in rank than Akitada quaked at the prospect of making their bow to the chancellor and assorted ministers and imperial advisers. But Akitada had just been given back his life. That sort of experience put the present ordeal and even his six years in the frozen north into a new perspective.

He therefore arrived calmly smiling at the officious young nobleman who had pitied his frayed costume on his last visit. The young man flushed with embarrassment and bowed Akitada obsequiously into the presence of the great men. Oblivious to their sharp-eyed scrutiny, Akitada extended New Year’s wishes with goodwill and more smiles to the three ministers and the haughty and bored chancellor. Then he presented his official report. He spoke easily and concisely on matters of national security, handing over sheaves of neatly written documents, answered their questions, and stated his recommendations for the region with strong arguments and to such good effect that even the chancellor sat up and listened. What should have been a stiff and formal affair suddenly became a lively exchange of views, and the eminent men consulted Akitada’s opinion with flattering interest and respect.

He left the palace smiling and whistling under his breath, the recipient of several invitations to seasonal parties. Strange, when one stopped caring so much about impressing the great, they became entirely human and quite likable.

After changing from the stiff silk gown with its long train into a more comfortable robe, Akitada set out again for the Nagaoka house.

This time the gate was answered by the old man who had entertained them at Fushimi, the one who loved old stories. Akitada racked his brain for a name. Kinzo! That was it.

“Well, Kinzo,” Akitada said, “I hope you remember me.”

“Sugawara,” snapped the old man. “I’m not senile yet. Lord Sugawara, I suppose I should say, though your ancestor held a much higher rank. Well, my master got out of jail without your help. Never mind! We can’t all be brilliant.”

Akitada chuckled. Lest he become arrogant after the flattering reception by the chancellor and ministers, here was Kinzo to remind him that greatness was a matter of opinion. He patted the old man’s shoulder. “True, but I am as happy as you that your master is finally free.”

Kinzo grunted as he slammed the gate shut behind them. “Maybe if he had chanted sutras in jail like Shuncho, the holy Fugen would’ve come to release him.”

“In that case, perhaps the god could have solved the murder of his sister-in-law. And prevented the killings of Nagaoka and Yasaburo.”

Kinzo pushed out his lower lip and considered. “It reminds me of the story of the Somedono Empress,” he said. “She was possessed by a demon who was her lover.” He shook his head. “The demon did terrible things and many people died for it.”

Akitada looked at him sharply. It was a strange parallel. But perhaps the old man was getting senile. He asked, “How is your master?”

“He’s the invisible man. Demon spit will make you invisible, you know.”

More demons. Akitada sighed inwardly. “I hope to bring him good news.”

Kinzo nodded. “Lord Kinsue comes to see the hermit,” he muttered, and climbed the steps to the house.

Akitada followed, frowning. Lord Kinsue? Another reference to demons? He only recalled one tale in which that lord had sought out a priest to be cured of a fever. Did this apply to himself? He was quite well again, and surely Kinzo could not know of his recent illness.

Kinzo’s allusion was partially explained when he saw Kojiro. The man was sitting listlessly in his brother’s study, staring at a blank wall where once his brother’s paintings had hung.

Kinzo said, by way of introduction, “Here’s company. And just in time before you forget you have speech.” He gave them both an admonitory look and said, “Remember Fujiwara Moroie!”

Akitada again searched his memory for the allusion and failed. Kojiro turned red and came to his feet. “How are you, my lord?” Then, scanning Akitada’s face, he asked, “What happened? Have you been ill?”

Kinzo snorted and left.

“Yes, but I am recovered,” said Akitada, “and take the first opportunity to see you and congratulate you on your release. What did Kinzo mean just now?”

Kojiro flushed again. “It was nothing. He believes old tales hold meaning for our lives.” He invited Akitada to sit and looked around helplessly. “Some wine? I don’t…” He raised his voice. “Kinzo!” There was no response and he sighed. “Forgive me. I’m afraid I get no visitors, so we are unprepared.”

“It is my fault for coming unannounced. Besides, I had better not have any wine. Seimei, my secretary, says it brings on a fever, and I have had enough of that.”

Kojiro visibly pulled himself together. He said formally, “I owe you my gratitude. You took the trouble to make my imprisonment easier. May I take this opportunity to wish you better health and fortune in the New Year?”

“Thank you. I return the wishes.” Akitada smiled. “Most sincerely, believe me. In fact, that is the reason I came. Tomorrow is the last day of the year. It is customary to discharge one’s debts.”

Kojiro looked puzzled. “What debts?” He gestured toward the account books. “There is nothing in my brother’s papers to suggest you did business with him.”

“My debt is to you. Weeks ago I made a promise to clear you of the murder charge. I have failed to do so. You were released from prison only because there have been two more murders, one of them your brother’s. I am afraid I cannot bring your brother to life again, but by tomorrow night, before year’s end, I shall try to pay that debt. I hope to solve not only the murder of your sister-in-law but also identify the killer of your brother and his father-in-law.”

Kojiro stared at Akitada, then burst into a bitter laugh. “Don’t blame yourself on my account, my lord. I no longer care much about what happened.”

“I understand how you feel.” Akitada hesitated. “Did you ever meet Nobuko’s sister?”

“What?” Kojiro shook his head. “No. Yugao died soon after Nobuko came here. I doubt my brother met her more than once. Look, I wish you would leave it alone, my lord. I doubt I shall be arrested again, and as for the rest, I don’t care. My brother’s wife was a demon who deserved to die, and her father was not much better. As for my brother, well, he was a very unhappy man at the end.”

“Nevertheless, you shall be cleared and your brother’s murderer shall be punished. Justice demands it.”

Kojiro grimaced. He looked thinner and older than Akitada remembered, more like his brother now than the ruddy, muscular young man he had seen in the mountains, or even the bloodied and defiant prisoner. As with Yoshiko, some life force seemed to have gone out of him. “There is another debt I owe you,” Akitada said more diffidently. “It concerns my sister Yoshiko. I was very wrong to force my sister to break her word to you. I ask your forgiveness for my insensitive behavior.”

Kojiro said nothing for a long time. He sat so still he seemed hardly to breathe, but his face was closed and his back stiff. He looked like a man who was fighting a fierce struggle with conflicting emotions. Finally he said harshly, “Have you apologized to your sister, my lord?”

Akitada flinched. “I have spoken to Yoshiko. She was … very happy. In fact, she thought you would be glad also.”

“That you have relented and are willing to accept a connection with a mere commoner?”

This was not going well. Akitada felt the blood rise to his face. He was angry with himself and with this stiff-necked farmer. Surely the man could see that Akitada had taken an enormous and unprecedented step, one which would lay him, and the rest of his family, open to calumny and censure from his associates and friends. For Yoshiko’s sake he controlled himself.

“I had hoped that we might become friends,” he said mildly. Thinking of Toshikage, he added, “Brothers, even. I never had a brother and have discovered great pleasure in the relationship with my other sister’s husband.”

Kojiro wilted. “Please forgive me,” he said softly. “I have misjudged you again. I had no right to reject your generous offer of friendship and…” He moved uncomfortably. “You say Yoshiko is still… that Yoshiko still wishes … ?”

“Oh, yes. But perhaps you are of a different mind now, after all that has happened?”

Kojiro said fervently, “No. Never! There will never be another woman for me as long as I live. I have always known that, almost from the first. It has not changed in all the years and it will not change in the future.”

A little embarrassed by such raw emotion, Akitada looked down at his hands and smiled. “I have gone over my accounts and find that I shall be able to give Yoshiko the same dower as her sister.” He mentioned figures—silver, rice fields, bolts of silk—and then asked; “Is this satisfactory to you?”

Kojiro had listened in amazement. “My lord,” he gasped, “there is no need. You are exceedingly generous, but I assure you, I am quite well-to-do. My property in the country is large. I can support Yoshiko in the style she was born to in spite of my station in life.”

“Well, then it’s settled and you must call me Akitada,” said Akitada with a nod. “Yoshiko shall have what I promised and you shall also make provisions for her and her children. We can work out the details later. Yoshiko has had a hard life in the past. But I am determined that shall change.” He rose, smiling.

Kojiro stumbled to his feet. “I—don’t know what to say,” he stammered. “Can I see her?”

“Of course. Come tonight and join us for a family meal. I shall ask my brother-in-law. Yoshiko’s sister is due to give birth and will be unable to come.” This was fortunate under the circumstances. Akiko would need time to adjust to Yoshiko’s marriage to a commoner. At the gate he stopped. “And I trust you will join us for an outing tomorrow night. It is the day of the spirit festival, and there will be music and dances in the Spring Garden. I am told a fine group of actors and acrobats will perform the demon chase.”

Kojiro looked too overwhelmed to protest. He bowed and nodded with a smile. He bowed and smiled again when Akitada made his farewells. And when Akitada glanced back over his shoulder some distance from Nagaoka’s house, Kojiro still stood in the open gate, smiling and raising his arm to wave. It was then that Akitada remembered the story of Fujiwara Moroie, who had lost his true love by wasting time.

The last day of the year dawned with a clear sky. In the Sugawara house, preparations for the New Year’s festivities were in full swing. Tora and Genba were climbing all over the gate and roof of the house, fixing pine branches to the rafters and stringing sacred ropes of rice straw. In the kitchen, foodstuffs piled up and the cook directed hired helpers in the preparations for the New Year’s banquet Akitada planned to give for friends and colleagues. Tamako, her silk gown covered with a cotton jacket, stuffed New Year’s rice cakes with sweet bean paste, and handed them to her little maid to shape into perfect, auspicious moon shapes.

Akitada still took it easy, but on this morning he set out early to make seasonal calls and deliver invitations. Some of these were for the banquet, but the others were for this very night, the last night of the old year, when evil spirits were exorcised and driven from the capital.

Akitada’s party would attend the celebration sponsored by the crown prince for the officials and clerks who worked in the government complex. Many of these were commoners and would bring their families. Akitada’s party included not only his family and retainers, but also Superintendent Kobe and Miss Plumblossom.

Two hours before sunset, the women and Yori climbed into the ox-drawn carriage which they shared with hampers of food and pitchers of wine, and everyone set out for the Spring Garden.

A sizable crowd had gathered around the lake pavilion for the event. Viewing stands awaited the noble families and ropes separated the rest of the crowd from an open area and the tent and raised stage reserved for the performers. Akitada led his family and guests to one of the stands, and saw the women and Yori settled behind the bamboo screening which protected them from the curious eyes of the crowd. When Miss Plumblossom protested that she would not be able to wave to her friends, Tamako persuaded her that she was needed to explain the acrobatics.

Akitada joined Kojiro, Toshikage, and Kobe in the front seats, while Seimei, Harada, Genba, Tora, and Saburo sat behind them. Hired servants scrambled back and forth with wine and refreshments.

Toshikage had accepted Kojiro easily. His happiness almost matched that of the bridegroom. His son Tadamine had been recalled from military duty in the east and was back in the capital to take up his post in the Palace Guard.

Kobe alone was irritable. He had tried to refuse, claiming police business, and Akitada had been forced to resort to hints of important disclosures before he relented. As it was, he fidgeted impatiently as old friends and colleagues stopped by to wish Akitada well.

When the music started, the crowd around their viewing stand thinned.

Customarily the first dances were formal and traditional, performed by young men or boys of the nobility. They wore gorgeous robes with long stiff trains and danced the ancient court rites with solemn perfection.

Kobe glared at them. “Very pretty,” he grumbled, “if you have nothing else to do with your life. Give me a wrestling match any day. At least that might teach me something about dealing with criminals. What are we waiting for?”

Akitada was becoming uneasy about his plan, but said, “Patience! You will find out soon enough.” He was taking a chance, but it was his only chance. He cast a glance at Kojiro and wished it had been possible to warn him, but everything depended on a spontaneous reaction.

When the acrobats came on, the tone of the entertainment changed abruptly to noisy good humor. The twins Gold and Silver were particular favorites, and Tora roared his approval of Gold’s somersaults so vociferously that Seimei clapped a hand over his mouth. In the sudden lull, Miss Plumblossom’s voice came from the screened enclosure. “Higher! Higher! Another flip, girls! Show them your bottoms! Bravo! I knew you could do it!”

Seimei looked outraged and plucked his master’s sleeve, but Akitada laughed. He was watching the area below the stage where Uemon’s Players were gathering for their turn.

Someone had chosen the farce Priest Fukko Begs for Robes, a piece which delighted both gentry and commoners because it made fun of a certain type of greedy Buddhist priest. Silence fell when Uemon himself, a thin, venerable-looking man in an elegant black silk robe, climbed the stage to recite the part of the much-provoked benefactor. Danjuro was to play the title role of the gluttonous monk.

After a brief interlude of music, a fat monk staggered onto the stage and began his antics. Danjuro’s performance was impressive. He looked, spoke, and acted exactly like the fat, middle-aged cleric: lazy, sniveling, pompous, and self-indulgent. The crowd roared its approval.

Given his dislike for all things Buddhist, Akitada enjoyed the farce, but he found it hard to laugh. Behind the mask of comedy was an odious truth.

Beside him, Kobe moved restlessly again. “Look at him,” he whispered into Akitada’s ear. “He makes it seem so easy. Do you suppose the fellow who poisoned Yasaburo could’ve masqueraded as a Buddhist priest?”

Akitada compressed his lips, his eyes on the actor. “Why not? I would not be surprised if he looked exactly like Fukko.”

Kobe stared from him to the stage and frowned. “You’re right. If that’s why you brought me here, you could have told me instead.”

“There is more.”

The farce closed and Uemon announced the dance of the celestial fairies. This was what Akitada had been waiting for. His heart started pounding. It was getting late, and he had not counted on the early darkness and their distance from the stage.

With some relief he saw that attendants were lighting lanterns on the eaves of the main pavilion and the viewing stands. Around the stage, more colored paper lanterns swung from ropes and from tall bamboo poles. The fading daylight was the color of pale wisteria and, combined with the colored lights, it made a fairyland of the scene. From behind the screen, Akitada could hear the women exclaim with delight.

The musicians struck up again, a dainty, otherworldly piece in which the flutes predominated over the drums. Then the dancers climbed to the stage one by one, eight women in all. They wore tall gilded crowns with softly tinkling bells and pendants on their heads and were dressed in diaphanous silk robes, each in a different shade from azure blue through rose, golden yellow, copper, leaf green, plum purple, and cherry red to the palest violet, and they moved with slow grace to the music of the flutes. Their faces and hands were covered thickly with white paint, charcoal outlined their eyes, and their mouths were tiny crimson bows. The masklike makeup made them all look the same, beautiful but remote. This illusion was heightened because they performed all movements and turns in unison, seeming to float above the wooden boards of the stage.

“Beautiful,” breathed Toshikage beside Akitada.

Akitada did not answer. He was beginning to despair. It was impossible to tell the women apart. The tallest was the lead dancer, and her gestures seemed to him a little more abrupt, her movements more designed to attract the eyes of the crowd. Yes, he thought, that’s the one. She is not quite in step with the others and a show-off besides. He glanced at Kojiro, who smiled back cheerfully. Akitada clenched his hands.

The dancers bowed to great applause and then, led by the tall fairy, descended from the stage to parade past the viewing stands, pausing now and then to perform movements of the dance. Akitada’s heart started pounding again. He had forgotten about this custom, which distinguished professionals from noble amateurs. The actors had a living to make, and looked for sponsors and protectors among the crowd. It gave him another chance, but might also precipitate an ugly incident. He sat in an agony of apprehension as the young women approached the Sugawara stand. Half-hopeful, half-fearful, he awaited the confrontation.

The lead dancer started a new routine. Akitada’s eyes went from her to Kojiro. Kojiro had been watching with polite interest, but suddenly his face changed, he stiffened, looked momentarily confused, and opened his mouth to say something. At that moment the short dance ended, and Tora jumped up to shout his compliments down to Gold, one of the eight fairies. The lead dancer gave him an angry glance, tossed her head so that the bells of her headdress jingled loudly, and pranced off, followed by the others. Akitada sagged with relief.

A pale Kojiro passed a shaking hand over his face as he stared after the disappearing dancers. Touching his arm, Akitada asked softly, “What is it? You look as if you had seen a ghost.”

“A ghost?” Kojiro laughed shakily. “Yes. Or a devil!” He gave a shudder. “It’s the night for it. I thought that first dancer… I could have sworn… heaven help me, but I thought I was looking at Nobuko. That woman will haunt me the rest of my life.”

Akitada exhaled with relief. It had worked. “Relax,” he said, giving Kojiro’s arm a squeeze. “It was no ghost. Yes. That was your brother’s wife. I hoped you would recognize her earlier. Thank the heavens she did not see you and make a run for it.” He turned to Kobe. “You heard? That lead dancer is Nagaoka’s wife, alive and well. The murdered woman was someone else, possibly one of the actresses who left the company about that time. You may recall I questioned her identity.”

Kobe gaped at him. “Is this some sort of joke? Nagaoka himself identified the body.”

“Nagaoka was overwrought and identified the expensive gown he had just given to his wife.”

“But then …” Kobe’s mind was working furiously. He muttered conjectures to himself. “One of the actresses? Then the actors are involved… but why would the Nagaoka woman … did she kill the other woman? Why? No, it makes no sense.” He glared at Akitada. “Was this your surprise?”

“Yes. The actor Danjuro was her accessory. The motive, or motives, were greed and a passion for theater. They extorted blood money from Nagaoka and then killed him. Yasaburo was poisoned by Danjuro, who was wearing the costume of the priest, to protect himself and Nobuko. Do you want to make the arrests now or wait until after the crowd has left?”

Kobe’s startled expression changed to one of anger. “You planned this to show off your brilliant detective work and made me look an idiot,” he charged. “Even if you are right, and I don’t for a moment believe your far-fetched tale, how do you expect me to conduct an investigation and arrest here and without constables?”